


Make Tracks (Redux)

by nichelium



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Comedy, Gen, Unlikely to be Finished, generous use of g1 references, post-S3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 20:16:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14316354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nichelium/pseuds/nichelium
Summary: After a transwarp accident, Tracks finds himself stuck on Earth with nobody but an organic mechanic who, frankly, is FAR too low-class for him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my drive for... three years...? And I keep looking at it and going "oh, I'll finish it!" but I have to be real with myself. I won't. So this cuts off abruptly after chapter four with no closure. Sorry. But I think what is written is fun enough on its own, so I'm posting in case anyone else might enjoy.

Great. Great. _Great_. This was just absolutely great.

Stuck on a backwards, nowhere, nothing, _organic_ planet, unable to switch out of alt-mode, unable to drive, unable to speak, unable to call for help, and generally completely, utterly, _stranded._ This was totally. Fragging. Great.

After not offlining from simply being _on_ an organic planet for a few minutes, Tracks managed to calm down just enough to figure out why in the Pit he was here. It must’ve been a space bridge mishap, right? That’s the only thing that could send him straight across the galaxy in a nanoklik. He was just grabbing a can of polish from his new, state-of-the-art, transwarp-enabled delivery system when… Oh. He had been warned about malfunctions when he bought the device, but… He didn’t think they could go _this_ badly. What the frag had that glitchy machine managed to do to his systems? Gotten rid of 99% of his energy, apparently. A trip through a bridge that was only supposed to be used for inanimate objects was not the sort of thing that sat well with a mech’s fuel tank, he supposed. Fan-fragging-tastic.

He heard footsteps -- soft, non-metallic footsteps -- approach him from behind. A check of the rear sensors, and… Oh. _Disgusting_. An _organic_.

“Woah! Who’d leave a ride like that in a place like this?”

Tracks’ translation protocols kicked online, something he hadn’t felt in, well… ever, maybe? He didn’t _deal_ with non-Cybertronians. Everyone he knew spoke plain Cybertronian. He didn’t even know why he still _had_ the protocols.

“What even _are_ you? You’re not a normal car.”

Was the organic talking to him? He couldn’t respond, in any case. And his translator had decided that this particular organic’s speech would be best forwarded to his audios with, what, a _Nuonese_ accent? Talk about _vulgar_. Couldn’t the protocol have the good sense to at least make the disgusting creature sound like a sensible Iaconian? He’d have to have the code checked out, that couldn’t be normal.

“Must be experimental. Well, if nobody seems to want you… then that makes you mine!”

What did it just say? The organic was coming closer. Ew, no, ew. Tracks wanted to get away but in his current state he couldn’t even twitch. Oh Pit it was touching him oh no, oh slag, ew, ew, _ew_.

“The doors are even unlocked? Man, it’s my lucky day.”

_Oh slag slag slag oh no of_ **_course_ ** _his doors weren’t locked who locked their doors people didn’t just_ **_climb into someone’s cab_ ** _without asking oh no, ew, oh slag, it was_ **_inside_ ** _him and now he’d never be able to wash the stink of organic off him even if he managed to get back to Cybertron_.

“Ho-o-ly cow. What is going on in here? This looks more like a plane’s cockpit than a car’s seat. How on Earth do I start you?”

_Get out get out get out get-_ did it say Earth? Was he on Earth? _Oh thank the AllSpark_ . He knew Earth. Knew of it, at least. Earth was where Optimus Prime found the AllSpark and defeated Megatron. Everyone knew _that_ ; or, at least, mechs in the know such as himself knew that _._ There was a space bridge on Earth. He could get home. If he could only, well, do anything at all.

“I’m… gonna get some help. You stay right here! Not that you can go anywhere. Oh, jeez, I’m talking to a car. I’ve been working on robots too much.”

With that, the organic got out of his cab and walked away. Of course, it would probably come back, if what it said could be trusted. And with _more_ of the disgusting things. Maybe… maybe they would fix him. Earthlings knew about Cybertronians, he could just explain the situation and be on his way. Right? Maybe… maybe the best thing to do right now was recharge. He should reserve what little fuel he had left. He’d find a way off this loathsome planet somehow.


	2. Chapter 2

Tracks awoke from his recharge to some vile  _ soft _ thing groping at his plating. He tried to move and shout but he couldn’t, and he thought he was in a nightmare before he remembered what had happened to him. It might as well have been a nightmare. Nothing could get worse than this. In the daze of waking up, though, he couldn’t bring himself to be violently disgusted -- just a little disgusted. The prodding at his sides continued.

“Where the heck is your fuel tank? Does this crazy experimental car not even use  _ gas _ ?”

The organic was back. The organic that claimed to own him now.

“Keep looking. Some of the newer, fancier cars have the openings real hidden in the plating, you know, for aesthetic purposes.”

And  _ another _ organic! Oh, joy! It just kept getting better. At least this one spoke properly, according to his translator.

“Ah, here it is. It’s- it’s really jammed closed- ah, there we go. Got it. ...Not sure it'll go back on too easy, though.”

Of course, after  _ prying his plating off _ , the organic proceeded to pour filthy black organic  _ gunk _ in to his fuel tank. Eugh. Yuck. He wanted to gag. At least his systems were telling him it was somewhat combustible, though nowhere near as potent as real energon. He could feel his programs rebooting. Oh, thank the AllSpark, he might get out of this online.

“Now that it’s got fuel, which I can’t believe you didn’t check first, why don’t you get in there and try to start it?”

“Sparkplug, I’m not an idiot. There’s not even a fuel gauge in this wacko interior, and I have no clue how to start it.”

And back into his interior the organic went. Disgusting. Though, with fuel, he could start booting up now… There! His internal lighting flickered on, and luckily, it was all more for show than anything that could actually help the creature along in its molestations of his insides.

“Woa-ho-ho! So advanced it doesn’t even need a key! Car, I don’t know who used to own you, but you’re mine now.”

A-a-and… There. Vocalizer online. “Nobody owned me, I’m mine!” Tracks spat.

The organic yelped and hit its head on the low roof of Tracks’ cab.

The second organic pivoted on a heel and walked back to where it’d come from. “Yeah, I’m out. You’re on your own, Raoul. I spent enough time with talking cars in Detroit. I came to New York to get  _ away _ from all the robots.” It climbed into its transport and left, leaving Tracks and the organic inside him alone in a back alley.

“This car… talks.” Raoul, the other had called this organic, was stunned.

“You’ve got a processor like a steel trap.” Tracks snarked.

“Process-? Oh. Ha ha. Because a robot would use robot words to refer to stuff. Cute.”

Tracks sputtered. “Cute? Robot? I’m no robot, I’m a Cybertronian. And I’m certainly not  _ cute _ .”

Raoul poked uselessly at the lights on Tracks’ dashboard, unamused when none of them did anything. “Cybertronian, huh? That some new sort of smartcar? How smart is a car if I can’t even drive you, eh?”

“You don’t drive me, I drive me. Now where’s the space bridge?”

“What the heck is a space bridge? Like… Like that alien thing in Detroit?”

“Yes, sure,” Tracks sighed impatiently. “I told you, I’m Cybertronian. I want to get back to Cybertron.” He enunciated, “Where is the space bridge?” There had to be more helpful organics on this mudball. Why couldn’t he seem to move? His other systems were online! Where was his engine, his transformation cog?

Raoul slouched back in the seat and put his hands over his face. “Of course. First time in my life I try to steal a car, and it’s a freaking alien.”

Tracks wasn’t feeling particularly bad for the creature. He was already quite fed up with him, in fact. “That’s what you get for stealing. Now tell me how to get to this ‘Detroit’ where the space bridge is.”

Raoul ran his hands along Tracks’ interior. “Just find it on the internet, man. Or follow the trail of robots.” Something seemed to cross the Earthling’s mind, and he perked up. “For a alien car, you’re pretty swanky. I’ve seen footage of those ones in Detroit and they’re nothing like you. Can you turn into a robot like them, too?”

“Must I discuss the minutiae of my personal upkeep with you? Yes, I can transform. Every Cybertronian can. Now get out or be helpful.”

Sneering, Raoul stood up and got out of his cab. “Why don’t you transform now, then?”

Tracks tried. He really did. He must’ve been visibly straining, doors opening, plating flaring, but he simply couldn’t get out of alt-mode.

As Tracks tried futilely to transform, Raoul had started examining the tossed plating that had covered the car’s fuel tank. “Hold still for a second.” Tracks didn’t listen, but Raoul managed to place the cover back on the struggling mech nonetheless. “So you can’t actually transform. Or drive. Or do anything other than spew sarcasm. What use are you?”

And now, Tracks had ceased being disgusted and was simply  _ livid _ . “Use?  _ Use? _ I’ll have you know I’m one of the most respected cosmetologists in Iacon! In all of  _ Cybertron _ ! What  _ use _ are you, you disgusting, squishy,  _ urchin _ ?”

“Me?” Raoul was utterly unfazed. “I’m a mechanic. So I could fix you up. I’ve done plenty of work on both cars and robots so, hey, I can probably manage both at once, yeah?”

“I’m a Cybertronian, a  _ living being _ , I need a  _ medic _ , not a mechanic.”

“Well, you’ve got me. Let me take a look under the hood and see if I can do something,” Raoul offered.

Tracks wanted to protest, but he really didn’t have any other options.

After hearing no objections, Raoul pried open Tracks’ hood with some trouble (he was going to let the organic touch him, but that didn’t mean he had to  _ like _ it) and took a look inside. “Definitely more robot than car.” Raoul whistled. “A pretty good robot, too. Like, a bona-fide Sumdac Systems robot. You’re even swanky on the inside, man.” He gently pushed something aside to see deeper. “That looks like the engine there. I think there might be problems with your fuel system.”

“Of course there’s problems; you’re expecting me to  _ digest _ that swill you poured in my tank! It’s disgusting. It’s making me nauseous.”

Closing the hood of the emotional vehicle, Raoul said, “I can probably fix you right up, but I need parts I don’t have with me. I’m gonna call Sparkplug back here and ask him to tow you back to my place.”

Tracks seemed… resigned. “Better than this alley, I suppose.”

Raoul left, and came back once again with the other Earthling known as Sparkplug, apparently having explained to him this “talking car”’s predicament and assuring him that he wouldn’t have to deal with the vehicle himself. 


	3. Chapter 3

The trip to Tracks’ next location in this nightmare was… interesting. It almost reminded him of a very small version of the seedier parts of Iacon (not that he visited them often). He could’ve sworn that one Earthling he saw looked just like that villain Rattletrap. 

Tracks was unhooked from Sparkplug’s tow line outside the garage. “Hey, Sparkplug, would you mind helping me push him inside?”

“Him. Yeah. Sure. You gonna name it, too?” He said as he took up a spot next to Raoul, behind Tracks’ rear bumper.

“I  _ have _ a name! And that name is Tracks, thank you very much.”

Raoul laughed. “Tracks, huh? Not some weird unpronounceable alien name?”

Sparkplug audibly sighed. He really, really didn’t want to be here right now. Wow, he and Tracks had something in common.

With Tracks pushed fully into Raoul’s garage, Sparkplug once again left as fast as physically possible without actually running.

“Here we are, home sweet home,” Raoul said, starting to rifle through various cupboards looking for the pieces he needed.

“Do all Earthlings live in their place of work?” He didn’t have a faceplate in this form with which to emote, so he tried to make his utter disgust  _ very  _ clear through his voice. He was eyeing the dirt, the stains, the spilled oil; this place was deplorable, and this organic called it his  _ home _ ? He was indoors and out of the alley, but at what cost?

“When you have hobbies like mine, it’s cheaper to just take the garage instead of the house with it. Besides, I don’t work here, I work at Sparkplug’s garage.  _ Here _ is where I make robots. Speaking of, Soundblaster! Come here!”

A little black drone wobbled out of the corner of the workbench and approached Raoul. It reminded Tracks of a maintenance minicon, which he had a few of in his own shop.

“Soundblaster, where did you put the spare fuel injectors? I told you to organize, not completely rearrange.”

The little robot took a moment to process, and responded, “Total rearrangement was necessary to organization. Prior state of workshop was wholly disorganized.”

Tracks chuckled. Before he could say anything, Raoul turned to him; “Not a word from you. If you get sarcastic at me one more time I will take you to the scrapyard.” At Tracks’ silence, Raoul turned back to his ‘helpful’ minicon. “Where did you put them, then?”

Again, Soundblaster took a moment to process the inquiry before answering. “Third cupboard from the left, second shelf, purple basket.”

“Purple... Purple basket? Where,” Raoul opened said cupboard and pulled out the basket of parts, “did you get colorful baskets?”

“Internet search revealed tactic entitled ‘dumpster diving’ as most efficient way to retrieve materials at low cost. Refuse behind store ‘Container Store’ proved fruitful.”

Tracks couldn’t stay silent any more. “You’re literally using  _ garbage _ to fix me? Garbage!?”

“Hey! I said no snark from you!”

“That wasn’t snark, it was  _ disgust _ . How did I end up on this planet, how did I end up on this part of this planet, oh, why did this happen to me…” Tracks forgot his rage for a moment and realized he was more sad, and hopeless, and… scared. He was really scared. “I’m never going to get home.”

Aaaand Raoul didn’t really know how to react to a car that seemed on the verge of metaphorical tears. He wasn't even good at comforting humans, much less alien robots. Comfort… food, maybe? No, comfort  _ fuel _ . “Hey, you, uh, said you thought it was the gas that gunked up your systems, right?”

Tracks collected himself, then replied; “that fuel you forced in to me? Yes, I think that might’ve been the cause.”

“What kind of fuel do you usually use, then? Maybe if we can get some of that, your systems will fix themselves…?” Raoul was totally guessing. 

Tracks didn’t really know if that would work, but figured it was worth a try. “I typically drink energon, like all Cybertronians do. Do you even  _ have _ that on Earth?”

Raoul was already pulling out his cell phone, ready to call in a favor. “I have no idea what that is, but I’ve got a friend at Sumdac Systems, and if anyone’s got that stuff, it’s Sumdac.” Dialing the number, he called up his ‘in’ with the robotics company. “Hey, Matt?”

Tracks tuned out the rest of the human’s conversation and turned his attention back to his surroundings. Things were looking up, somewhat, but if he refused to to accept maintenance from the human, he’d doubtless be stuck in this garage for a while yet. And without hands to make it more… acceptable. But there was that little minicon, or whatever it was; would it take orders from anyone other than his owner? It was worth a try. The black-and-gold robot was standing on the workbench directly in front of him. He whispered at it so as to not interrupt Raoul’s call, “hey! You! Minicon. Uh, Sound… blaster? Soundblaster, clean this place up! It’s filthy!”

The little ‘con looked at him, and he swore he saw surprise in its visor. It didn’t take any time to process his command, immediately responding, “Yes, sir. Affirmative. Cleaning measures will be undertaken.” It jumped off the desk and ran to gather what supplies it could find.

Well. That was a step in the right direction, then. 

“Hey! What’re you doing with Soundblaster?” Raoul was done with his call, and he scooped up the tiny robot before it could begin its work. “You, why are you listening to him?”

It struggled in Raoul’s hold. “Machines superior. Organics inferior. A new master has been found. Your compliance is no longer required.”

“My compli- what the hell? This is what I get for messing with circuits I don’t understand. You’re getting dismantled,” Raoul said.

Before Raoul could do any damage, Tracks spoke up in defense of the little thing. “Aw, there’s no need for that. It’s still doing its job. Just not for you. ...What exactly  _ is _ that thing, though? It isn’t a minicon, is it?”

Raoul’s discontent with the machine hadn’t abated, but it didn’t seem like he would be trying to take it apart any time soon, at least. “It’s a toy I souped up. A weirdly sophisticated toy with tech like the most advanced computers I’ve ever seen, but still just a toy. Most of this model broke down for no reason a week after they were released, but I managed to keep this guy going. It’s  _ supposed _ to help me around the garage.”

“Hm. Well, now it can help me, since I can’t move on my own. Even if its color scheme is rather garish.”

“What? No way. Black and gold is cool. Like a ninja.” Raoul set the ‘bot down and  it scurried away to continue its task. “Sooo, my guy at Sumdac can get me some energon, or at least something like it, but it’ll take a while. Can you last a few days?”

“If I don’t die of some organic plague, then yes. It’s not like I’ll be expending much energy.”

Inspiration flashed across Raoul’s face. He went to the corner of the room, separated from the bulk of the garage by upright sheet metal, and returned with some sort of device. “If you’ll be bored, you can use my laptop. Since you don’t, uh, have hands, I’ll start up a show on Netflix, I guess? What do you want to watch?”

Tracks eyed the machine. It had a control pad and a screen, like any cybertronian computer. Good that that was consistent across the galaxy, at least, even if he couldn’t use it himself. He  _ would _ use this machine to look up more about this planet, but really, right now, he didn’t want to bother. He’d humor Raoul and watch videos with the human, he supposed. “I’d like to learn more about your planet, since I’m going to be stuck here.”

“Ooo-kay, so, we could watch a documentary, or… actually, no, let’s watch reality shows.  _ Bargain Bin Battles  _ will teach you everything you need to know about human nature.” Raoul pressed one last button and pulled up a chair beside where Tracks was parked.

Tracks had a feeling that this show would not, in fact, teach him anything, but he was rather too tired to argue. He sat in for a night of terrible television. Oh, how had his life so quickly become  _ this _ ?


	4. Chapter 4

Raoul had retired to the barely-separated “bedroom” side of the garage some time during the night, but Tracks simply couldn’t recharge in the  _ filthy _ (though getting cleaner thanks to Soundblaster’s efforts) garage he was stuck in. He couldn’t exactly use Raoul’s computer, not with the state he was in, but the helpful not-quite-minicon found him a  _ number _ of video programs more informative than the one Raoul had had him watch. The one Tracks found the most enlightening was something that had been on the air for over a hundred stellar cycles (a very long time to humans, it seemed) and had given him amazing insight into the history of human fashion. The aesthetics seen on the show had also been giving him ideas for his own business back on Cybertron. Organics might be disgusting, but they sure knew their stuff when it came to beauty. Some of them did, at least.

Raoul groggily appeared through the curtain. Tracks greeted him, “good morning. Did you have a pleasant recharge? I know I certainly didn’t.” Raoul startled and nearly fell, but caught himself.

“Oh my god I forgot you were here. Re--? Recharge? Do you need to, like, plug in, or something? Should I have plugged you in last night?” He seemed to be spouting every question that came to mind as he made his way to what looked like a wash room. 

Tracks sighed. He was sighing a lot lately. “No, I just need to initiate a defrag cycle. But that’s hard to do in such a filthy, cramped space.”

Raoul ignored him for the moment and closed the washroom door. The sound of running solvent started, and Tracks went back to watching the human television show.

When the solvent stopped and Raoul emerged a few minutes later, he was decidedly less greasy. It seemed this human knew how to clean  _ himself _ , if not his abode. He went behind the curtain again and then emerged in fresh clothes.

“Really? That jacket with those pants?” Tracks questioned.

“You’re a _car,_ you're not allowed to insult my fashion decisions,” Raoul replied as he pulled the computer away. “You’ve seriously been watching _Project_ _Runway_? Season- _season seventy-eight!?_ How did you get through that much in one night?”

“It goes at a dreadfully slow pace. Soundblaster assisted me in speeding up the recordings. It’s been  _ very _ informative. Humans are quite good at coming up with novel aesthetics, though one wouldn’t know that from looking at  _ you _ .”

Raoul almost looked affronted, but he was also trying very hard not to laugh. “ _ Snk- _ Alright. Well, you can help me decide which jacket to wear then, dude.” He put his laptop down and retrieved three more garments from behind the curtain. One was a black, studded leather jacket nearly identical in construction to brown the one he was wearing; the next was constructed entirely from denim; and the final one was a bright red windbreaker. “This is all I’ve got.”

“Well they’re all  _ terrible _ ,” Tracks despaired. “If I could move of my own accord I’d force you to go shopping immediately. I would brave this horrible planet just so that I didn’t have to look at rhinestone studded leather anymore.”

Raoul tossed the jackets aside with a shrug. “Whatever. It’s retro, you know? And it hides grease stains.” Tracks made some noise of disgust, but Raoul ignored it. “So, you still can’t move, huh? I never did replace your fuel injector. Do you want me to do that before I go to work? Shouldn’t take long.”

Tracks considered for a moment. “I would like to be able to at least drive. But I don’t want your crude implements replacing my organs.”

“You haven’t exactly got organs,” Raoul said as he pried Tracks’ hood open once again, “and from what I can tell, advanced as you are, most of your parts aren’t too different from Sumdac-manufactured stuff. You’re probably fine to get one new piece, unless you’ve got some immune system thing I can’t see that’d reject it, or something.”

Tracks must be going insane to actually be considering this. “As much as I’d like an excuse to not have human-made bits inside me, Cybertronians are incredibly adaptable. I’ve implanted cosmetic mods made by the organics of the planet Beast in ‘bots before, and I doubt Earth technology can get much cruder than that.”

The human was putting on (dirty) leather gloves and pulling the correct part out of the basket. It must break some regulation to be able to have a basket of loose, mech-grade fuel injectors just sitting out in a dirty cupboard instead of a sterile medical environment. When he had the tools he needed, Raoul returned to Tracks and reached in. “Will this… hurt?”

“The only thing hurting is my dignity,” Tracks responded. Raoul scoffed and got to work. It really was a simple affair, and was over in just a few moments. He was surprisingly skilled for an organic who had never even met a Cybertronian.

“Alright. I’ve gotta pick up breakfast and get to work. I think ‘I was helping an alien car’ is probably the  _ worst  _ excuse someone could give to Sparkplug. Good luck, uh, healing? After that… surgery? See ya later.” With that, Raoul grabbed his bag and left the garage.

Tracks sat and tentatively tried to start his engine. Sluggishly, his driving systems powered on. Oh, thank the AllSpark. He still didn’t really want to drive or transform lest something catastrophic be revealed, but his systems weren’t  _ totally  _ bunk, and that was enough for now. He let his engine idle, warming his systems. 

Soundblaster had been working away on its task of cleaning the garage, but still clearly keeping an eye on the events of the morning. It really was quite like the minicons Tracks had at his workshop, though perhaps a bit feistier, given its willingness to abandon its original, organic, master. 

“Soundblaster, please start up the video program again,” Tracks asked.

The little bot ceased its cleaning momentarily and jumped to obey his request. “Affirmative.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :) I did have more ideas for this fic involving Beachcomber, Astoria, etc., but it's all random bits with no ligaments, haha, so it's unlikely I'll ever really come back to this. (...of course, beachcomber would force the rating up, what with his use of illicit substances...) I hope you enjoyed what little there is.


End file.
